


Little Serpent

by ineffablebastard (tealeafthief)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Repossession AU, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealeafthief/pseuds/ineffablebastard
Summary: Part of the 'Repossession AU' by the wonderful dreamsofspike!Crowley had come home months ago now, but really the trauma had still been ongoing. Gabriel had still been able to enter their home, still been able to touch him and hurt him. Even after they had claimed sanctuary, after he was no longer able to cross the threshold, he had still been able to talk to him, to pour poisonous doubt into Crowley’s mind. Crowley had been right, as long as Gabriel continued living he would never have stopped.Now it really was over. And Crowley would know better than anyone that injuries sometimes hurt more as they healed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 250





	Little Serpent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 

> Hello! I'm so excited to be writing for this incredible story.
> 
> I highly recommend reading 'Repossession' by dreamsofspike first, which should be linked above! Just be aware of explicit descriptions of torture, abuse and rape (though no noncon in this fic!).
> 
> Also, thank you SO much to dreamsofspike for giving me their royal blessing on this fic and beta reading it for me! Can't wait to see what else you write xx
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The first few days after Gabriel’s death, after Crowley’s conversation with Her, had been nothing short of bliss; the world seemed to ignore the angel and demon as they simply enjoyed each others company. Over and over again.

Crowley had been in a state of blissful numbness, floating in a haze of positivity and safety that had become foreign to him. For these days, negative emotions evaded him, his aura too bright with Her approval for them to seek him out. It was after the visits from Michael and Hastur, after things went back to ‘normal’ (whatever normal even meant to them anymore), that something happened.

They had been relaxing together in the living room, Aziraphale reading softly from a book as Crowley lay with his head on Aziraphale’s lap, allowing the angel to gently card his fingers through his short, fiery hair. It had been short since Crowley had returned from Heaven, and he was quite happy to keep it that way. Crowley had announced that the story would pair  _ perfectly  _ with a bottle of Merlot from the kitchen, and practically floated toward the wine cabinet in the next room. He hummed softly to himself as he retrieved the bottle, a beautiful vintage from Bordeaux, and then went to grab a couple of glasses from the side.

He must have been a little quick, a tad uncoordinated, because as he turned around the glass flew from his hand and shattered on the tiled floor. It was certainly not the only glass he had ever broken in his life; countless glasses dropped and knocked over and even  _ thrown  _ on a few memorable occasions. It was just an accident. Somewhere inside him, he  _ knew  _ that. 

His calm aura melted around him, and his body began to shake as he looked at the shattered glass spread on the floor. He dropped to his knees with a painful thud and tried desperately to scoop up the shards with his trembling hands, his breath hitching in his throat as he tried desperately to stay quiet, not to get Gabriel’s attention.

_ Gabriel isn’t here, Aziraphale killed him. _

Then why could he feel the cold metal of the collar, unyielding against his throat?

_ You’re safe, for fuck _ _ ’ _ _ s sake, it’s just a glass, it doesn’t matter.  _

No no no it  _ did  _ matter, what mattered was that he  _ broke it _ , he was clumsy and stupid and now  _ you’re gonna pay for that sweetheart, you’ve really fucked it up this time _ . He brought his hands, now slick with blood that oozed from the glass now embedded in his skin, up to his throat, wincing at the shock of a level two punishment that he could  _ feel  _ buzzing down his spine. His mouth moved in the shape of an apology, and he swore he heard someone calling his name as his mind drifted away.

* * *

_ Gabriel’s office was always immaculate.  _

_ It was decorated in a sleek, minimalist fashion, with a desktop that shined and floors that gleamed, and the few bits of decoration that adorned the office somehow only added to the feeling of sparseness. Not a single speck of dust resided anywhere within the office. _

_ A few months ago, Crowley might have spared a thought for how ridiculous it was that Gabriel would ask him to clean it.  _

_ Now, Crowley was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at an already pristine floor with a sponge, occasionally rinsing and dunking into a bucket of lukewarm water next to him. Gabriel had chuckled at the terror in his eyes when he had miracled it into the office _ _ and had raised a hand to effectively silence the pleading that had instinctively begun to pour from the demon’s trembling lips. _

_ “Relax, sweetheart, it’s not holy. I have a meeting, by the time I get back I want this place spotless,” he explained coolly. Without realising, Crowley’s eyes wandered cautiously around the room, looking for anything out of place to warrant him having to clean it. Not that it mattered. Not that any of this was about fairness or reason. Gabriel must have seen his confusion, and he sighed with feigned pity. “It’s a shame I’ve allowed it to become so...tarnished in here...allowed it to become permeated with evil. I suppose that’s what you do, isn’t it? You soil things with your demon filth. Like my office. Like your precious Angel. I suspect he finally realised  _ he _ had to do some spring cleaning too, isn’t that right _ _ , _ _ sweetheart?” _

_ The cruel words didn’t sting as badly anymore. He had started to believe they were true.  _

_ Now he was crawling through the office on aching knees, careful not to leave streaks across the tiled floors with the soapy water. It was demeaning, and it was pointless, but so far he wasn’t in any more pain. He counted that as a win.  _

_ Looking around, he cautiously rose to his feet to polish one of the sleek side tables that held some clear Venetian glass art. Being on his feet was a little strange; he was technically allowed to be standing, he had been given no specific orders to complete the task on his knees, but he felt uneasy nevertheless. Things felt less risky on his knees.  _

_ Aziraphale had always had a greater appreciation for art than he did. It was common for the two of them to meet at the National Gallery, Tate Modern and Britain,  _ _ t _ _ he British Museum, and for the angel to whisper trivia excitedly to him. He may not have been particularly enamoured with all of it, but he was always enamoured with Aziraphale. Besides, it was fun to look at the biblical ones, see what the humans had gotten right and wrong.  _

_ Even with Crowley’s limited knowledge and appreciation for art, he knew the statue to be beautiful. _

_ The light filtered through it like a prism, casting small rainbows about the table, bouncing off the immaculately smooth surface and through the detailed ridges. He realised, with a jolt, that it was a sculpture of the Tree of Knowledge. Tiny apples had been carved into the great expanse of lush leaves that sprouted from the central supporting trunk, each as individually detailed as snowflakes. For as long as he had been trapped in Heaven, he had not seen anything so beautiful.  _

_ He dropped the sponge gently back into the water and reached out a cautious hand, unthinking, to run his fingers along the surface of the sculpture, to feel the grooves run beneath his skin, the cool glass soothing on his rough, calloused hands. They ran down to lightly grip the trunk, ornately detailed with what Crowley knew first hand to be astonishingly accurate anatomy.  _

_ “What do you think you’re doing?” _

_ Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat and he felt his blood run cold. His body spun around on instinct, bringing his hands and the sculpture with it. _

_ As if in slow motion, Crowley watched as the sculpture slipped from his unsteady fingers and fell to the ground, the delicate, painstakingly crafted glass shattering into hundreds of sharp pieces at his feet. His eyes stayed locked on to the ruined glass, as a pair of shiny leather shoes came into his line of vision. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees, not even wincing as glass pierced through his jeans and into his flesh, and started to collect some of the bigger, safer pieces of glass he could reach, his hands hardly steady enough to grip them. The shoes came closer until they were directly in front of him. He watched helplessly as the Archangel Gabriel knelt carefully down and took a firm hold of both of his wrists, stilling his frantic action. _

_ “You stupid little serpent,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, but strangely calm in comparison to the anger that Crowley could feel coming off of him in waves. _

_ “I’m s-sorry, I’m s-so sorry, M-Master, please...” Crowley hissed out, terror gripping his heart like a vice.  _ _ Gabriel's larger hands moved to close around Crowley's, still holding the pieces of broken glass, and crushed them in his furious grip. _

_ “You pathetic little bitch. How dare you lay your filthy hands on my belongings, how dare you abandon the job I asked you to do, you worthless little snake,” Gabriel spat, his hands shaking with rage and the force of his grip.  _

_ Crowley bit down on his tongue to keep himself from crying out, even as blood began to seep out of his clenched fists and he felt the shards of glass cut through his skin. “I-I didn’t m-mean to, I’m so sorry _ _ , _ _ I was just looking, I d-d-didn’t want to break it, I swear...” _

_ “Shut up!” Gabriel shouted, shaking his slave roughly, eliciting a pitiful whimper in response. “Do you know what that sculpture was of, sweetheart?” _

_ “Th-the tree, Master.” _

_ “Yes, the tree. The tree that  _ you  _ led Eve to, the tree that had them kicked out of Eden, that doomed humanity. First, you use that tree for your own wicked wiles, and now you destroy it. Is that it, sweetheart? Maybe you didn’t want to see it, huh? Don’t want to remember how unforgivably  _ evil  _ you are?”  _

_ Crowley shook his head frantically. “N-no, Master, it was an accident, I didn’t want it to break, I-” _

_ “You better stop lying to me, sweetheart.” There was a terrifying pause. “In fact, I think I’d rather just have you silent.” _

_ He released Crowley’s hands and watched as they painfully opened, the shards of glass that hadn’t embedded into his skin falling to the floor. Crowley kept his eyes on the ground, not daring to make a noise. _

_ “‘ _ _ The Lord God said to the serpent, "Because you have done this, Cursed are you more than all cattle, And more than every beast of the field; On your belly you will go, And dust you will eat All the days of your life.”’ Sound familiar, sweetheart?” Crowley nodded, miserably. “Not that you listened to Her, which isn’t a surprise really, is it? Indulging in...” His lip curled in disgust. “...gross matter, walking among Her creations as if you have any right. I think we should rectify that, shouldn’t we?” _

_ Without warning, Gabriel grabbed a fistful of Crowley’s hair and shoved his face down into the broken glass, kicking his legs out so he lay on his stomach. He bit his lip against the pain of the glass slicing into his skin, trying to relax his body as much as possible. _

_ “Clean it up,” Gabriel demanded. Crowley nodded against the tiled floor, and tried to manoeuvre his bleeding hands out from underneath him to pick it up, but stopped as Gabriel tightened his fist in his hair in warning. “No. Serpents don’t have hands, sweetheart. ‘Dust you will eat all the days of your life’, right? Sounds like you have some catching up to do.” He pushed his head harder into the tile floor, the glass biting into his face. “Put that sinful tongue of yours to use, until every piece is collected. Should shut you up for a little while.” _

* * *

Aziraphale jumped at the sound of shattered glass, snapping his book shut. He told his suddenly racing heartbeat that it was fine, for Her sake, just a broken glass. Crowley  _ had  _ said he was going to get wine after all. Glasses broke, it was normal. But of course, their normal,  _ Crowley’s  _ normal, had all been turned on its head. He kept his ears tuned, but he couldn’t even hear his husband pottering around in the kitchen anymore.

“Crowley, darling?” he called out, making an effort to keep his voice calm and even. “Everything alright?”

Silence.

With a hissed, rare curse, he got to his feet and jogged to the kitchen. Truthfully, Aziraphale had been waiting for a drop in Crowley’s indestructibly good mood. He loved Crowley unfathomably and knew of the unbelievable strength that lay within him, but if anything, the recovery process was just properly beginning. Crowley had come home months ago now, but really the trauma had still been ongoing. Gabriel had still been able to enter their home, still been able to  _ touch  _ him and  _ hurt  _ him. Even after they had claimed sanctuary, after he was no longer able to cross the threshold, he had still been able to talk to him, to pour poisonous doubt into Crowley’s mind. Crowley had been right, as long as Gabriel continued living he would never have stopped.

Now it really  _ was  _ over. And Crowley would know better than anyone that injuries sometimes hurt more as they healed.

Aziraphale stumbled into the kitchen and his heart sank at the sight of Crowley on his knees, trembling violently, bleeding hands covering his mouth to stifle his fearful whimpers. 

_ Of course, Gabriel often demanded silence. _

_ But Gabriel isn’t  _ here.

He made a move to kneel down beside him, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the shattered glass, and quickly swept it away with his slipper-covered foot. He cautiously knelt down and looked into Crowley’s eyes, wide and fearful, unshielded by his sunglasses which had been left in the other room. Crowley’s gaze quickly turned downwards to focus somewhere around Aziraphale’s knees.

“Crowley?” he said softly, fighting his instincts to reach out and touch him. “My darling, it’s alright, it’s Aziraphale. We’re home, we’re safe here. What happened, my dear? Was it the glass?” 

At the mention of the glass, Crowley flinched and bent his head down lower.

“I-I n-need to clean it up, I need to pick it a-a-all up, he’s going to come back, he’s going to be s-so angry, please I-I’m sorry, please let me-” He croaked out, his voice stifled with terror as he reached out trembling, bleeding hands to the glass that Aziraphale had swept aside. 

“Crowley, no!” Aziraphale said without thinking. Crowley froze, his eyes wide with fear. Aziraphale could almost hear his heart pumping painfully hard in his chest. “I’m so sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to, just… may I touch you?” 

Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “W-wha…” he tried, not understanding the question. 

Why was he asking? Gabriel never asked, he just did whatever he wanted to do. Aziraphale saw the conflict in his husband’s eyes, and it broke his heart. He made a split-second decision and gathered Crowley into his arms, mindful of his still-bleeding hands.

“You’re safe, Crowley. He’s not here. You broke a glass by accident, and it’s alright, you’re not in any trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong, my love.” He said, steady and calm, a contrast to the sorrow and  _ anger  _ that swirled in his gut. “If you try to pick it up like that you’ll get hurt, dear, that’s why I tried to stop you, I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry for shouting. Would you be fine to come with me back into the living room? So we can heal your hands?” Crowley stayed stock still in Aziraphale’s embrace, and then weakly began to shake his head.

“H-he’ll come b-back, if he sees it, he'll be so...he’ll…”

“He’s gone, Crowley, remember? We’re both safe,” Aziraphale gently reminded him. Crowley brought his eyes up as high as Aziraphale’s chin, still confused and disbelieving. Aziraphale sighed and plastered on a gentle smile. “Come, dear boy, let's go back to the sofa. Things will look clearer soon.”

“B-but the glass-”

With a flick of the angel’s wrist, the glass on the floor had vanished, and he felt Crowley’s muscles relax just a little against him, right before he transported them both to the sofa with another small miracle. 

* * *

“Well,  _ that  _ was embarrassing.”

Crowley now sat across from Aziraphale on the sofa, his eyes shielded behind his shades that he had slipped on as soon as he was lucid enough to think to do so. After about fifteen minutes sitting with Aziraphale, trembling and crying and  _ begging  _ to be allowed to apologise, waiting for a punishment that wasn’t coming, he had begun to come back to himself with the aid of his angel’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Aziraphale fussed with the blanket that was now wrapped around Crowley’s shoulders.

“Not embarrassing, my dear, perfectly understandable,” he replied coolly.

“I broke a glass and freaked out so much you thought I was going to pass out, that’s pretty embarrassing,” he said, looking down at his now healed hands, rubbing anxiously where the jagged glass had bitten into his skin. His motion was stilled by Aziraphale laying a hand on top of his.

“No, it isn’t. You were  _ frightened _ _ , _ my love, and given all that you’ve survived, it’s no wonder. After all, well...we haven’t really had time to properly process it all until now, have we? Now that the danger really is well and truly gone, I mean,” he tried to explain. He saw Crowley’s eyebrows furrow behind the shades. “You know, I had some friends, people that I knew, really, from  t he Marlborough Club-”

“The ‘Discreet Gentlemen’s club you mean?” Crowley teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It had the desired effect . Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but was unable to hide the amusement in his features.

“Hush, you. Yes,  _ that _ club. We had had our spat and you had gone for a rather long nap, I had to amuse myself somehow. And they were nice, those young men. They taught me how to do the Gavotte.”

“Oh, is  _ that  _ what they called it?”

“They were just  _ friends  _ of mine _ ,  _ Crowley. But they were such incredibly talented and sweet-hearted boys. Then there was that awful business with the Archduke, and they were all asked to... pop off down to France.”

“...Oh.”

“Yes, rather. When I was  _ able  _ to see them again, they were just...different.” Aziraphale said almost too flippantly, his eyes slightly downcast. Crowley had had the good grace to sleep through that nasty affair (it was either that or remain ludicrously drunk for the full four years), but of course, Aziraphale  \-  good,  _ sweet  _ Aziraphale  \-  wouldn’t have been able to ignore it all. 

“Angel, I’m so sorry , ” Crowley breathed out, squeezing his husband ’ s hand.

“No, no, please. After all, it wasn’t me who had to live in those awful trenches. But the thing was...during the war of course they were terrified, completely traumatised. I knew a young man once who woke up one day and could no longer move his legs; not due to injury, his brain had just refused to let him walk, to let him go back to the fighting. But even through all that, the worst of it came once they were able to go home. When they didn’t have to dedicate every ounce of energy to just trying to  _ survive _ . When their minds were finally allowed to start healing,” he said pointedly, meeting Crowley’s eyes behind the sunglasses. 

Crowley was the first to look away, clearing his throat to try and relieve some of the tightness. “Earlier...back in the kitchen, I mean...I thought...i-it was like I was back there, in G...in his office...but it doesn’t make  _ sense  _ because it’s over now, I  _ know  _ I’m not back there, that I never have to go back there. But it was like… I just knew exactly what to do again. How to act, what to say...like a  _ good little slave _ ,” he choked out, his voice breaking as he pulled his hands away from Aziraphale to try to hide the tears he could feel burning his eyes. In an instant, Aziraphale shuffled forward and pulled Crowley to his chest like he had done so many times now, rocking him gently and pressing kisses into his hair.

“You’ve come  _ so far,  _ my love. And we’re both finally safe, finally  _ free.  _ You thought you were in danger, and so your mind reverted to the place it had been in back in Heaven, to  _ protect  _ you , ”  h e explained sorrowfully. 

“B-b-but I’m not  _ in  _ H-heaven. We’re h-home now, I’m  _ safe  _ now, he’s  _ dead,  _ I shouldn’t be  _ like this _ ,” Crowley gasped out, crying now more out of frustration. He had worked  _ so hard,  _ both of them had, and he just wanted it all to be over. He was so tired of being afraid.

“I know, my darling, I know. And it will get better, you said it yourself. Every day, it will. You  _ are _ safe, you just need to learn how to be safe again. You’re here, I’m here, and it’s  _ over  _ now. It really, truly is. Now we really can rest, and really  _ properly  _ heal.”

They stayed like that for a little while, Crowley occasionally muttering out words of frustration and Aziraphale murmuring comforts back to him. After what felt like an eternity, Crowley straightened and pushed his sunglasses back to rest on the top of his head, mustering up the courage to look Aziraphale in the eye.

“Angel...do you remember what She said...back in the garden, after the whole apple business?” Crowley asked.

“I seem to remember She had quite a bit to say that day.” Aziraphale chuckled. “What did you mean specifically?” 

“After Eve told Her that it was me who had tempted her,” Crowley explained. “The whole ‘cursed above all livestock’ thing. ‘You will crawl on your belly, and will eat dust all the days of your life’ and so on.”

“Oh, oh yes I suppose I do. Don’t know if I was supposed to be listening, really. I mean...I don’t think it was meant to be  _ literal,  _ was it? You’re certainly not a big eater but I’ve known you to eat. And you don’t crawl.” At that, Crowley flinched, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Crowley? What is it, my dear?”

“Earlier, with the glass it...it just brought me back to...something he said. He r-repeated it, made me…” He paused, collecting his thoughts. He didn’t want to have to spend a long time clarifying all the details of this particular story. He took a deep breath and looked up at Aziraphale for permission to continue. He nodded, brow furrowed in concern. 

Slowly and softly, Crowley recounted the experience, the order to clean, the statue, the shattered glass, and the fist in his hair holding his face to the floor. By the time he finished, he was exhausted and gratefully leaned into Aziraphale’s embrace. He could feel the righteous fury coming off of him in waves, fury which just a month ago would have had him cowering in terror. Now it was oddly comforting, knowing it was  _ for _ him instead of  _ at _ him.

“He...he made you  _ eat  _ it?” Aziraphale said, struggling to stay calm.

“No, no. Not exactly, I think...I think he just wanted to see me try, see if I would have done it.”  _ You would have _ , whispered an insidious voice in his head,  _ if it had meant he would be pleased with you. If it meant you wouldn’t be punished.  _ He had, of course, been punished anyways. He decided to spare Aziraphale the details of that next encounter. “He just kind of watched me...trying to pick it up with my tongue.” He shuddered at the memory of it, feeling phantom pains spike through his mouth. “Guess it was funny, I’m not sure. It...it hurt  _ so much more _ than I thought it would,” he whispered.

Aziraphale was silent for a little while, and Crowley wondered if he’d said too much. He didn’t dare move a muscle in his husband ’ s embrace, waiting for him to say something,  _ anything _ . Eventually, Aziraphale took a calming breath in and placed a kiss into Crowley’s hair, stroking his back idly.

“Crowley...you told me recently that you don’t want me to call you ‘Serpent’ anymore.” Crowley flinched in his embrace and the angel was quick to reassure him. “I still won’t! If that’s what you need, you will never hear that nickname pass my lips again. But I do  _ need  _ you to know...I love you.” 

Crowley blinked. “Well,  _ yeah,  _ Angel, I figured that one out on my own.”

“All of you.” 

_ Oh. _

“And that form, it’s a part of you, as is everything you’ve done in it. If you hadn’t done just that little temptation, we would never have had the world we live in now, flaws and all. No wine, no cars, no parks and duck ponds, no antique record shops or old libraries. It’s all because of  _ you,  _ my love. Because humans know the difference between Good and Evil, we’re able to have all these lovely little in between things, you see? And, to be perfectly honest, I think She thinks the same thing.”

Crowley froze, automatically opening his mouth to deny any claim of acceptance from Her before his mind was drawn back to their conversation. She had had quite a bit to say about Her plan, and how both of them played a part in it. What he hadn’t known was that they had been a part of it from the very Beginning. If everything was supposed to happen like this, if there really was no hereditary difference between Angel and Demon, then he really  _ had  _ done the ‘Good’ thing. 

“B-but the curse-”

“I mean...it’s not as if it  _ worked _ . You don’t slither on your belly or eat dust. I think She just meant snakes in general.”

“Do snakes eat dust?”

“Technically yes! They sample dirt with their tongue to smell the area, if you will. Though ‘eat’ is a very strong word. I think they prefer mice,” Aziraphale explained with that happy lilt to his voice that appeared whenever he was able to share something he’d learned.

Crowley nodded, taking it in. If Aziraphale was saying it with such conviction, and it was the kind of bookish nonsense he would just know. He thought back to the incident, and he remembered thinking at the time that this was karma catching up to him, that She had laid this curse on him thousands of years ago and it was finally paying off. Now, like most other incidents from the year with Gabriel, he was able to look at it with more clarity.

“So...I was never cursed. I was never really  _ punished  _ for tempting Eve.”

“Never, my love. You’ve never  _ deserved  _ any punishment.”

There it was. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes again and he groaned in frustration, pulling away slightly to wipe them away with mock anger.

“For Her sake, angel, if you keep talking like that I’ll be crying  _ forever, _ ” he whined. Aziraphale only laughed and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I’ll have to get the tissues then, love, I’m nowhere  _ near  _ done telling you how beautiful and  _ worthy _ you are.”

* * *

A couple of days later, Crowley was lounging on the sofa, waiting for Aziraphale to pick out a book for the evening, and the demon was getting impatient waiting for his comfy lap to lie on. Aziraphale’s thighs were better than any pillow in the universe. He adjusted himself again for the umpteenth time, letting his gangly limbs rest over the end of the armrest, then back up on the coffee table, then folded in front of him, but nothing was working. He couldn’t get comfy, and he didn’t want to be squirming and fidgeting whilst Aziraphale was reading to him.

An idea came to his head, but his initial reaction was  _ fear _ . He shook his head to be rid of it, before realising that he genuinely had nothing to be afraid of. He remembered how nice it used to feel, how relaxing, especially on warm, sunny days when he could explore his indoor garden in the Mayfair flat. 

He looked back towards Aziraphale, still thumbing through his collection, and smiled, then closed his eyes, relaxed, and shifted.

When Aziraphale came back, he was initially alarmed to find he could no longer see his husband splayed out on the sofa, and considered checking the kitchen or the bedroom to see if he was okay, before a movement under the blanket caught his eye. Cautiously, he reached out and slowly lifted it, and was greeted by two golden, slitted eyes, and a pink, forked tongue between them.

“Oh, Crowley! Goodness, I couldn’t see you and I thought you might have gone. Are you alright, my dear?” 

Crowley stuck out his tongue again, in what Aziraphale assumed to be an affirmative, and slithered out from underneath the blanket to coil up beside where Aziraphale would usually sit. He took the hint and sat down, and watched as the beautiful, sleek, black serpent wound his way around his torso, coming to rest his head on the angel’s shoulder. He affectionately ran his hand down Crowley’s scaly body, and paused, gasping.

On the snake’s red underbelly, right where his heart would be, was their sigil, still emblazoned on his form even as a serpent. He smiled, feeling tears build up behind his eyes.

“You see, darling? Snake or not, you’re still my husband,” he joked, stroking him with affection. Crowley bumped his head against Aziraphale’s cheek in the way he knew would put that goofy grin on his face. “Are you fine with staying like this whilst I read? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said hesitantly, despite the fact that it was  _ Crowley  _ who had chosen to take this form. In answer, Crowley just tightened comfortably around him and bumped against his cheek again.  _ Stubborn git _ , Aziraphale thought to himself,  _ I know he can still talk like this _ . 

This was the beginning of the healing period. They both knew that to get better, it would probably get worse. But the rest of their eternity together was worth healing for. As Aziraphale described the events of Bilbo Baggins’ one hundred and eleventh birthday party, complete with the silly voices, Crowley drifted into a wide-eyed and dreamless sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how I did! I'd love to write more for the Repossession universe.


End file.
